The Method Actor
It had been a difficult three months. Colin was the most demanding director she had worked with, and although it had been stressful and nerve-racking, Juliet had to admit that he had managed to exact a more than commendable performance from the cast. She was playing the main part. Cora Hindle who, with her equally vile boy friend Bradley Ryan had lured or kidnapped little children, and after torturing them had killed and dismembered them, before getting rid of their body parts in the cracks of the rocky moor.
At the beginning of the shooting, Colin kept tut tutting and shaking his head. The way you’re playing Cora frightens me less than a baton twirling cheerleader, he’d say. Whatever that meant. No one is going to waste even five minutes’ sleep in sweat after watching you. I want you to give them nightmares! When she cried of anger and shame that Rada had not equipped her properly to play tough parts, Colin was already contemplating ditching her and restart the shooting with another actor.
‘I’ll only say this once, Jules, did you not do the Lee Strasberg module at Rada? What’s wrong with getting into character before you arrive on the set? Start telling yourself you are Cora, the moment you get outa bed. Can’t be too difficult, darling.’ And that worked. On getting up, she’d rush to the bathroom, stare at herself in the mirror, changing the expressions on her face until she scared herself. She would begin shaking after that, with something like a lump in her stomach, giving her a slight nausea. Try as hard as she could, she was unable to smile at the bus conductor or the security men at the studio, the sort of thing she did normally. Never one smile to her fellow thespians. When Colin expressed satisfaction with a scene, she muttered under her breath, Piss off you big cunt!
And now it was all over. She refused to join the cast for a celebratory drink, and instead went for a walk on Hampstead Heath. The sun was setting and it was cloudy and sombre. What was that three-year old child doing there on her own? She was whimpering, probably because she had lost her mother. Her hands were muddy, and a cut on her forehead was oozing out blood. Filthy brat! Mummy, mummy, the child cried as she mistook Juliet for her mother. She blanked out and five minutes later when she came to, she saw the dead, strangled toddler at her feet, her open eyes staring at the sky.
